Listen To Your Heart
by MissingMommy
Summary: Draco was taught not to listen to his heart, so he doesn't. But when Harry spends a little too much time around the Manor, Draco, try as he might, can't deny what his heart is telling him. : "He's listening now; he may not like it what's saying, but he listening." : Drarry, for smilelaughread


**A/n – written for smilelaughread for the HPFC exchange, so I sincerely hope you enjoy reading this! **

**This also was posted on HPFC exchange because of the challenge, but I would like to say that this was originally mine and I didn't steal it. **

"_Listen To Your Heart"_

_One._

Draco doesn't do emotions. Emotions are dangerous things to play with. He was raised to avoid them, so he does. But lately, it's becoming increasingly harder to ignore the emotions welling up inside his chest. The force of them is threatening to tear him apart, inch by agonizing inch. And he's not even sure which emotions are running through him. All he knows is that they're new and painful.

But he throws up his natural defense – a calm, collected exterior that shows nothing of the battle currently raging inside him – and pretends he's fine. And even though it's hard to pretend that he doesn't hurt, he was raised not to show weakness. So he pretends that he's stronger than he really is.

Maybe that's why he originally had no problem joining the Dark Lord. He could show how strong and powerful he liked to believe he was. When he was ordered to kill, he just couldn't. He couldn't take another person's life, no matter how easy it should have been; because he has a conscience, even if it doesn't seem like it, and that's what stopped him from killing Dumbledore – his conscience.

It was the eye-opener he needed in his life. He now knows that killing someone doesn't show strength; it shows _weakness_. Not killing Dumbledore was the _harder_ decision. It meant that Draco himself was going to be killed; it meant that he would suffer pain for his decision. But he was okay with that. He could sleep at night because he _didn't_ kill Dumbledore, because his conscience is (mostly) clean.

So when Harry asks him if he's okay, of course he says, "I'm fine." He was raised not to admit weakness, so he doesn't.

Draco's response doesn't sound convincing to himself, and Harry calls him out on it.

"Liar."

Some part of him doesn't care about being the perfect _Pureblood_ anymore; but the other part – the part that wins the sub-conscious battle – cares enough to try to _pretend _to be strong.

"You can't tell me you're okay after your father got sentenced to Azkaban for life," Harry continues.

Draco's not even sure how Harry knows that he's not okay, that he's about to break at the seams, but he does. "I can and I did," Draco retorts, hiding behind his snarky attitude. "It's not the end of the world, Potter," he adds as an afterthought. But it is the end of the world to him. His father should be in his life, no matter what type of influence he has on Draco; because Draco's mother needs Lucius and Draco needs his mother. But without Lucius, their family starts to fall apart, piece by piece.

Harry studies Draco for a while longer. Whatever he wants to say, he keeps to himself and Draco feels relief flood his body. "Well, I've been assigned to your family for the time being," Harry says. "For your family's safety," he adds when Draco gives him a questioning look.

By the time the Death Eaters' trials came to an end, Harry had finished his Auror training. With all the death threats towards Draco and his mother – who had barely managed to escape Azkaban thanks to testimony from Harry himself – a few Aurors has been dispatched to protect the Malfoys; Harry among them.

To show Harry he understands, Draco jerks his head in a small nodding motion. Without any further words, Draco turns on his heels and stalks off in the direction of the Apparition fields within the Ministry of Magic.

_Four._

Draco's not sure why Harry brought it up again. He is perfectly fine pretending that he's okay. It's easier that way.

"Potter, I told you before. I'm fine," Draco nearly growls at Harry.

But Harry still isn't buying it. "I told you: it's Harry," is all Harry replies. And a small part of Draco is relieved that Harry doesn't say anything about his answer.

"And I told you that it'll always be Potter to me," Draco says, stalking away.

Behind him, Harry just sighs and pretends that the conversation never came up. It's just the way Draco likes it.

_Twenty-six._

Draco has never had a lot of patience and Harry is starting to wear it very thin. Harry makes it a daily occurrence to ask how he is doing today, but the answer is always the same. "I'm fine, Potter!"

"Why do you care so much, Potter?" he finally asks.

Harry shrugs. "It just seems like you need someone."

Draco nearly snorts, but holds it back. "I don't need anyone," Draco replies. But he knows it's not the truth. The one person he needs most in his life is slowly killing herself with grief and he can't do a thing about it.

Harry takes the answer with a frown, but doesn't disagree.

_Thirty._

It takes Harry several days before he asks Draco the question again. Draco is mildly surprised that it took him so long.

"I'm fine, Potter," he says, like he usually does.

Harry nods and smiles. "Still pretending you are, I see."

Draco doesn't reply. Instead, he pretends he didn't hear Harry. He pretends a lot these days so it isn't a surprise that it comes naturally.

_Fifty-five._

"How are you, Draco?" Harry asks him as he's sitting down for a drink in the living room.

Draco's patience is so thin that it's almost non-existent. "I'm fine, Harry," he stresses. The shocked look on Harry's face lets Draco know that he said something unexpected.

But Harry quickly covers up his expression, leaving Draco to wonder exactly what he had said. Draco sits in the chair closest to the desk, staring at it as Harry leaves the room without another word.

_Eighty-two. _

"Harry," Draco acknowledges. He's not sure when Potter became Harry in his mind, but it now seems like the person who was Potter is a distant memory. All he can think of when he thinks of Harry is the man who is so concerned with his well-being. It kind of scares him – Potter becoming related with Harry in his mind – because that means that most of the things he was taught aren't true anymore.

"Are you okay?" Harry questions. Even though it's always phrased differently, the underlying message is quite clear.

"I'm still fine, Harry," Draco replies dully.

This daily routine has quickly become old, but Harry isn't giving up until he gets the right answer. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Draco knows this, though he isn't going to give up that easily.

_One hundred and eight._

Harry's been tearing at his defenses for months now, and it keeps getting harder to deny Harry of the truth as they go along. "I'm not okay," he whispers finally. He doesn't look at Harry when he says this, though. That would be harder than admitting defeat.

Harry doesn't say anything about his moment of weakness and Draco is thankful for it. "You will be," Harry tells him softly.

Draco laughs bitterly at that statement.

They fall into silence.

_One hundred and seventeen._

"You know, keeping your emotions bottled up isn't healthy," Harry remarks to him one day. He hasn't asked about his well-being since Draco admitted defeat. "Trust me, I know."

Draco doesn't say anything. He doesn't trust himself to. Harry fills the silence instead. "I once blew my aunt up because I bottled up my emotions."

Harry's trying to get a rise out of Draco and he isn't giving in. It's like Harry knows this because Harry just sighs and gets back to work.

_One hundred and thirty-one._

Draco has to give it to Harry; he's surely persistent. It's almost like he wants to fix Draco, though Draco's not even sure there's anything to fix. He just wants to scream and yell at Harry until he doesn't tell him what's good for him anymore. Draco just wants to be left alone, but Harry isn't going to do that; he's sure of it.

"What do you know about my emotions, Harry?" Draco asks stonily.

"I know you don't listen to your heart enough," Harry murmurs as he leaves Draco to his thoughts.

Draco isn't sure what Harry means by that statement, but he doesn't dwell on it for long. He has his mother to take care of.

_One hundred and fifty-nine._

Harry is replaced by a different Auror that day. Something about him being out sick or having a personal day – Draco wasn't paying attention when Harry told him. It's oddly quiet without Harry there. The other Auror doesn't ask Draco how he is and Draco's mildly surprised that he misses Harry and his daily question.

There's a weird feeling in his heart, an aching that he isn't used to. It's almost as if Harry means a little more than Draco would like to admit. But it's Harry he's talking about and Draco just chalks it up to him being around the house every day for the past five months.

_One hundred and sixty._

Harry returns the next day and Draco feels a sense of normality returning to his day. He still thinks it's because Harry's been there every day, but his heart's not so sure.

"How are you, Draco?"

It's the same underlying message as always. Some things may never change with Harry.

Draco fights back the urge to smirk. "I'm fine, Harry."

Nodding to show Draco he heard, Harry leaves Draco to his own thoughts.

_One hundred and seventy-nine._

Harry enters the room in his red Auror uniform. Draco is reviewing a case file about some properties the Malfoys own. "Draco," Harry greets him. "How are you?"

Draco nods his head in return. "I'm still fine."

Taking the seat opposite of Draco's desk, Harry waits for Draco to look up. Once he does, Harry speaks. "There have been no more death threats towards your family. The head Auror feels that it is time remove the Malfoys from Auror protection. It's effective as of tomorrow."

"That's great news," Draco says before he has a chance to understand what Harry said.

"Of course, you can contact me if there are any more death threats," Harry smiles warmly at Draco.

The information finally processes in his brain. Harry is no longer going to be around him, but Harry has given him the only sense of consistency he can achieve while his father is in Azkaban and his mother is dying of a broken heart.

Despite the emotions running through his body, he keeps his face neutral. He nods formally. "I will." Harry leaves without another word.

_Two hundred and ten._

She lasts two hundred and ten days, Draco notes; seven months of complete hell before she finally breaks too much to be mended. He stands at her graveside, wondering how he let his mother do this, how he let her _go_. He had promised himself he would save her, protect her from this fate. But he failed.

"Draco?" a familiar voice asks. He doesn't have to turn around to know who it is. There's a hand on his shoulder, probably belonging to the owner of the voice, but he doesn't care. All that matters is the writing on the tombstone. "How are you holding up?"

Still the same underlying message, Draco thinks bitterly. But this time he doesn't respond; because there are no words to describe the pain rushing through his body right now.

"I would tell you it gets easier, but it doesn't," Harry says, breaking the silence.

Draco doesn't reply, hoping Harry would leave, but he doesn't. "Why do you care anyway?" Draco demands, his grey eyes meeting green ones.

Harry refuses to look away from Draco's stare. "Because somebody has to," is all Harry says before leaving Draco alone.

_Two hundred and twenty-four._

Draco's been mulling over Harry's words for two weeks now and he's no closer to finding the meaning behind them than he was the first day. And it's irritating him. He's not used to _not_ understanding the hidden meaning behind a person's words.

Harry drops by occasionally to check up on him, to make sure that he's still alive. Harry denies it, but Draco is too good at reading people to be fooled.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks.

Draco nods even though he isn't. He doesn't talk often anymore. Harry just chalks it up to grief.

_Two hundred and thirty-nine._

There's a constant ache in Draco's chest. It's been there for weeks now, and the only time it goes away is when Harry's around. That scares Draco far more than it should. He doesn't want to admit that some part of him cares about Harry and his consistent question.

But Harry isn't around daily, and Draco can feel himself break a little more every day. Some part of him knows that he really _shouldn't_ care about Harry. Then he realizes that Harry's the only one who is consistently there for him. And that – more than anything – means a lot to him.

_Two hundred and fifty-seven._

It's been over a month since Harry has last stopped by the Malfoy Manor – not that Draco has been keeping track. At least, that's what he tells himself. Draco keeps himself busy looking into the properties he now solely owns. It's not much, but it does keep him distracted and he's thankful for it.

It keeps his mind off Harry, mostly.

But there are days where he can't keep his mind off that green-eyed man. Draco's not sure when Harry came to mean so much to him, but Harry does. And Draco can't deny it any longer – if the ache in his heart is anything to go by, that is.

Harry told him once he doesn't listen to his heart enough. He's listening now; he may not like it what's saying, but he listening.

_Two hundred and seventy-eight._

Harry drops by after a long day of work to check in on Draco. It's been a while since Harry has last inquired about Draco and Harry feels it's long overdue. A house elf shows Harry into the drawing room that he knows all too well and he takes his usual seat nearest the fire.

"Draco," Harry greets him. "How are you holding up?"

Offering a glass of Butterbeer to Harry, Draco merely shrugs. "I'm still alive, if that counts for anything." It's the most honest Draco's ever been with Harry. And Draco knows it hasn't gone unnoticed.

"That's good to hear."

"How is everything at the Auror's office?" Draco asks, purposefully changing the subject. He may be able to admit he cares about Harry to himself, but he's not admitting it out loud.

That doesn't go unnoticed by Harry either.

_Two hundred and ninety-nine._

Draco listens to his heart. It's thumping and pounding like crazy. He knows it's because Harry's supposed to be coming by the Manor for drinks again tonight.

And just when Draco thought its impossible for his heart to beat any faster, his house elf shows Harry into the drawing room. "How are you, Draco?" Harry asks. It's a safety net for Draco to roll around in, something that isn't going anywhere any time soon.

"I'm doing better than I was," Draco replies.

Harry smiles at Draco. "I'm glad," he murmurs.

Draco stares at him for a few moments. "You know, I've been wondering. Whatever happened between you and that Weasley girl?"

"We decided to go our separate ways," answers Harry. And Draco leaves the conversation alone.

_Three hundred and twelve._

Harry comes around the Manor at least three times a week. It makes living at the Manor a little easier for Draco.

Without fail, Harry asks Draco how he is doing. "I'm better, Harry," Draco murmurs. Some part of Draco wonders if Harry would stop asking when he got the truth from Draco, that Draco isn't as good as he believes he is. But Harry hasn't stopped asking yet.

"You said someone had to care," Draco suddenly says, interrupting their conversation about the properties the Malfoys own.

"What?" Harry questions.

Draco knows Harry remembers, but he gives in anyway. "At my mother's funeral, you said you cared because somebody had to." Harry nods his head, prompting Draco to continue with his train of thought. "Why does it have to be you?"

Harry pauses for a brief moment, considering his answer. "Because I'm the only one you let close enough to see under your mask," he replies. Before Draco can ask any other questions, Harry is out the door. Staring at the door that just closed, Draco tries to decipher the meaning behind Harry's words.

_Three hundred and twenty-one._

Draco sits in the drawing room, silently awaiting Harry's arrival. Harry struts into the room, taking his usual seat. "How's everything going?" he asks without hesitation.

"I'm fine," Draco whispers, reverting back to his usual answer. He has no witty remark this time around. It's the truth; he's okay. There's no pain in his heart and no weird emotions coursing through his body.

Harry nods, accepting the answer without question. "I heard you sold a few of your properties," Harry finally says conversationally, breaking the silence that settled between the two.

"Yes, I did. Those properties weren't bringing in as much money as the others. I figured I didn't need them anymore," Draco replies. He lets himself be drawn into a conversation with Harry so he doesn't say anything he'll regret later.

_Three hundred and forty-four._

Harry leads himself to the drawing room. He's been here so often he doesn't need the house elf to show him around anymore. Taking his usual seat, he glances at Draco and smiles. "Evening, Draco." Draco nods his head, waiting silently for Harry's usual question. But it never comes. "Your properties still good?" Harry asks instead.

The underlying question, however, is still there, still hidden under false pretenses.

It takes Draco a few moments to recover. "Yes they are," he replies once he realizes what Harry asked.

Harry doesn't stay long and Draco doesn't mind. He's too lost in his own world to notice reality at this moment. Harry shows himself out.

_Three hundred and fifty-three._

Draco dwells on the fact that Harry doesn't ask how he is doing anymore. The question used to be his safety net, used to show him somebody cared. But not hearing the question slightly worries him.

"You don't ask how I'm doing anymore." Draco brings his concern to Harry's attention while they are enjoying their Butterbeer. "You used to ask almost every day."

Harry's green eyes meet his own grey ones. "You didn't lie to me the last time I asked. That's all I was pushing for."

Draco drinks the rest of his Butterbeer in silence.

_Three hundred and sixty-five_.

Harry makes a point to show up at Draco's Manor. Draco is sitting behind the desk, staring out to space.

"Draco," Harry calls out rather loudly. He does this purposefully to get Draco's attention. When Draco turns his grey eyes on Harry, he questions, "How are you holding up?"

Draco says emotionlessly, "I'm okay."

Harry shakes his head, "Liar."

And Draco thinks this conversation sounds oddly familiar. "How am I supposed to feel?" Draco growls at Harry.

"You're supposed to be angry and upset – not okay – because it's alright to feel that way," Harry reminds him. "It's been a year since your father got sentenced to Azkaban."

"I don't need reminding, Harry," Draco snaps. "I remember."

Harry doesn't take a step back from where he's standing. "I know you do," he replies softly. "And it's okay to remember. You just can't let your whole life revolve around that conviction. He made his choice, and you've made yours."

Draco analyzes Harry closely. Before he can think about what's he's doing, Draco presses his lips to Harry's; because, in that moment, Draco's heart is speaking and Draco is just following its demands.

When they part, Draco feels horrified. "I see you're listening to your heart more," is all Harry says.

For a while, Draco doesn't say anything. "My heart's been telling me to do that for a while now," he admits quietly. A small part of him is worried that, if he says it too loudly, Harry will disappear on him.

"Mine too."

_Three hundred and forty-eight._

Harry struts in the room and takes his usual seat. Draco looks up from the newspaper in his hands. "Harry," he greets him softly. "How are you?" He fights back the urge to smile at Harry's presence.

Looking towards Draco, Harry's eyebrows furrow. "Aren't I supposed to be the one asking you that?" But Harry isn't going to admit that it's nice hearing Draco ask the familiar question, Draco notes; because that would mean admitting that Draco cares about Harry more than he should, and they're not ready to admit _that_ just yet.

Draco shrugs. "You're not the only one that knows how to ask that question," he points out with a smirk.

"Touché," Harry replies, smiling.

They fall into a companionable silence before Draco speaks again. "You still haven't answered my question."

"I'm okay," Harry says, mirroring Draco's previous answers. Draco doesn't doubt the truth behind his answer.

Before Harry leaves for the night, he kisses Draco softly on the lips. "Good night."

_Two hundred and sixty-four._

Draco waits impatiently for Harry to arrive. He's nearly an hour later than usual, and Draco's not going to admit that he's actually _worried_ about him. But Draco's listening to his heart and knows that he _is_ actually worried, if the pounding is anything to go by.

He nearly sighs in relief as Harry enters the drawing room. "Harry," he whispers.

"Sorry I'm late. It's been a really long day," Harry tells him.

Before he can say anything, Harry's lips are covering his own. When they part, Draco asks, "What was that for?"

"Because I can," is all Harry says. But Draco's not complaining.

_Two hundred and two._

Harry sheds his overcoat as he enters the drawing room. He enters as quietly as possible so he doesn't interrupt Draco if he's working. But upon opening the door, he's smiles at the sight of Draco enjoying a Butterbeer instead of working. "Harry," Draco acknowledges him. "How are you?"

"I'm good," Harry replies, helping himself to a Butterbeer. They sit in silence, sipping on their drinks. "You know they're talking about us?"

"What?"

"The media," Harry informs him. "They're talking about us."

Draco moves closer to Harry. "Let them."

"That was my plan," Harry whispers, just a breath away from Draco's lips.

_One hundred and seventy-six._

They don't have to talk, not really. It's not necessary for them to understand each other. Besides, they say a lot with what they don't say. And Draco really hasn't ever been a talkative person, so he's rather thankful that Harry doesn't push him to be.

"How are you, Harry?" Draco questions, softly. It's the only constant thing Draco says and they both won't admit that it means Draco cares.

Harry grins. "I'm great."

They make small talk, but when silence falls, neither of them mind. Harry's starting to leave later and later each night, and Draco's surely not complaining. "Well, I better be off," Harry informs him. He stands and brushes his lips against Draco's. It's a nightly occurrence that Draco's coming to enjoy, a lot.

"Good night."

_One hundred and thirty-seven._

Harry falls into his chair. Draco passes him a Butterbeer and frowns slightly. "How was your day?"

Sighing, Harry replies, "Long." Draco nods, taking the answer without hesitation. When Draco makes no notion of questioning him further, Harry informs him, "An arrest went wrong due to improper restraint and my teammate got the bulk of the injuries. I've been filling out paperwork since."

"Should have restrained them better," Draco notes innocently.

Harry glares at him. "Obviously we figured that out later," he says.

They share some banter back and forth, letting Harry take his mind away from his day. Draco knows that Harry is thankful to have the distraction, but Draco can't help but think it feels nice to (sort of) comfort someone else.

_Ninety-three._

They're comfortable with each other; that much is true. Draco's so _in_ _tune_ with Harry that it's kind of scary. But when Harry comes through the door and takes his seat, Draco knows his day has been terrible.

Wordlessly, Draco pours Firewhisky instead of grabbing the usual Butterbeer. Harry takes the proffered glass with a small smile. They don't talk for the longest time, but the words don't have to be said for them to recognized.

Harry presses his lips against Draco's in thanks.

_Fifty._

By the time Harry takes his usual seat, Draco is standing before him, arms folded across his chest. "When'd you move in?" Draco demands.

Harry looks up at him questioningly. "What?"

"When did you move in?" he says more slowly, pronouncing each word deliberately.

"I haven't," Harry answers.

Draco frowns. "Your toothbrush is in my bathroom," he points out. And that's what informed Draco of the rising issue – the toothbrush. But it's not just that; Draco's Manor has acquired many of Harry's other items. He's not sure how Harry managed to start keeping so much of his stuff at the Manor, or how Draco had completely missed it.

Harry doesn't have an argument against this because his toothbrush is, in fact, in Draco's bathroom.

"You could have asked, you know."

_Eighteen._

Draco looks at Harry. "Why me?" he questions. It's a thought that has been going through Draco's mind a lot lately, and he feels kind of ridiculous because he's being self-conscious, which he's not used to.

Looking up, Harry's eyebrows furrow. "What do you mean?"

"You have options. Why'd you choose me?" he expands slightly, refusing to meet Harry's stare. When he finishes his question, however, Draco looks back at Harry, meeting his eyes.

Harry's quiet for a while, thinking about his answer. It has Draco worried that it's taking him so long to reply. But then, Harry starts to answer. "I got to know you," he begins. "And I realized exactly how much you've changed." Draco tries to cut in, but Harry silences his comments. "I know who you were and who you are now, Draco. You're a better person. Don't ever doubt that."

Harry smiles and adds, "And you know, of course, there's the fact that I might just love you."

Looking up at him, Draco has surprise written all over his face – he had given up masking his emotions a while ago. "What did you just say?"

"I do believe I said 'I love you'," Harry retorts.

Draco stares at Harry, speechless. It takes a while before common sense floods back into his brain, but when it does, Draco leans towards Harry. "I think I just might love you too," he whispers before pressing his lips against Harry's.

It may not have been perfect, but it's completely _them_.

_One_.

He may be comfortable with Harry, but Draco still doesn't like to be touched often. He's slowly gotten over that in the last year, but he's far from being completely okay with it.

Yet, right now, Harry has his arms wrapped around Draco's waist and Draco can't find it within himself to pull away; it feels _right_ to be in Harry's arms. When Harry looks up at Draco, he can't help but smile. And he sits here, trying to figure out when this man had come to mean so much to him.

"How was your year, Draco?" Harry asks, his green eyes meeting Draco's own.

Draco contemplates this question for a few moments before replying, "Better than last year, but nowhere near as good as next year will be."

And Draco knows this is true. It's taken him a while to get where he's at right now, but with Harry at his side, Draco is sure that they can make the next year even better.

**A/n – Thanks so much to kci47 and cherryredxx for beta-ing this for me!**


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